


Relative Liberty

by amelie_drinking_tea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Latino Character, M/M, Other, latin grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelie_drinking_tea/pseuds/amelie_drinking_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was not much that could actually get on Grantaire's nerves. He was a pretty easygoing person. Or so he thought. However, if there was one thing that could get on his bad side it was upper class college students with a knack for social justice. Daddy and mommy's boys and girls who thought they were enlightened somehow for realizing the world was shitty. </p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was not much that could actually get on Grantaire's nerves. He was a pretty easygoing person. Or so he thought. However, if there was one thing that could get on his bad side it was upper class college students with a knack for social justice. Daddy and mommy's boys and girls who thought they were enlightened somehow for realizing the world was shitty. Youngsters who wouldn't last a day without their overpriced coffee debating on racial prejudice and gender equality. That killed him.

He was an exchange student on top of it all, which made everything worse. There was usually one out of three things going on when people realized he was foreigner (though not the "cool" kind of foreigner, from Europe or something):

1\. They would automatically assume he was a sex maniac (though his looks definitely had nothing going for him).

"Is it true what they say about Latin lovers?"

2\. They’d assume he was a street smart gang member.

"Hey, man, can you hot-wire?"

3\. They’d assume he was a refugee coming straight from the jungle.

"Do people know how to use computers there?"

It didn’t even bother him most of the time, really. He didn’t think everyone should be a god-damned expert on his culture or anything (though he kind of thought most of them could have the common sense to keep their idiotic assumptions to themselves). The thing that really fucked him over was those idealistic types, who were of the better sorts and whose ideals were so fucking far from the real world it almost made him laugh.

He usually kept it to himself, though, always coming to the conclusion that there was no point in arguing over any of it anyway. He just wanted to graduate and go back to his homeland.

He had a passion for languages, English more than any other, even if he wasn’t too keen on admitting it, its nuances and infinite possibilities tingled inside him like music, and his career plan was basically to learn enough of it so he could teach it back home, due to the great demand of the business community.

You are kind of forced to learn English if you want to get a good job in a third world country. And he liked studying it. It sounded reasonable. It sounded practical. He was in no mood for rescuing anyone from the big bad “First World” oppression.

He honestly didn’t give a fuck about that.

Or so he’d tell himself.

The only actual friend he’d made since he got to the University was Courfeyrac. They had hit it off right away. It had actually been sort of funny. Grantaire was completely lost on his first day, wandering around campus for what had been a good two hours, when this weird kid wearing a red hunting hat had walked towards him, looking even more at a loss.

“Hey, man, you look like you know your way around. Are the dorms that way?”

Grantaire had followed his gesture, trying his best to be helpful.

“Uhm… I saw a lot of blond people wearing polo shirts going that way just now, but I’m not sure what that means.”

Courfeyrac had laughed loudly at that, offering Grantaire his hand as he introduced himself.

“We better follow them, then. If I know anything about college, it is that people wearing polo shirts always know where they’re supposed to be.”

And they had been close ever since.

Courfeyrac never mentioned his accent or his odd choice of vocabulary, and he was pretty grateful for it. He knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with having an accent and all, but people could be gratuitously mean, and even the strong-minded can feel self-conscious when mockery is recurring.

Plus, they had similar interests, like their taste in books and music. They could get into the most heated discussions from time to time (Courfeyrac would defend The Catcher in the Rye till the end, while Grantaire would call him an unoriginal hipster, just for the fun of it).

They’d hit the bars every other time, or catch a movie (they’d made a deal to watch at least one subtitled movie a month, just so Grantaire could show him how annoying hearing a language other than your own all the time could be) and in spite of Courfeyrac being incredibly popular among, well, pretty much everyone and Grantaire being one not to mingle much, they’d always find some time to chill, just the two of them.

And everything was fine till one day Courfeyrac asked him to join him at a meeting with some people from his sociology class at a place called Café Musain, which Grantaire kind of frowned upon, because of the stuck-up French name and all, but mainly because _sociology class_.

“I think I’ll pass, but thanks for inviting me.”

“Come on, R! You don’t even know them!”

“It’s a social studies group, isn’t it? You know how I feel about white people trying to save us, poor defenseless minorities, from our corrupt governments…”

“Oh, so that’s how you feel about me, then?” Courf had asked, more teasing than actual offense in his voice.

Grantaire laughed, punching him on the arm.

“You’re different, and you know it! I think there’s some Italian vibe going on with you, it makes me comfortable.”

“You are so weird, did you know that?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! And that’s exactly why you have to come along, those guys are the weirdest bunch I’ve met around here, I’d die of boredom without them. You’ll fit right in!”

“I don’t want to fit in, besides I’ll end up being rude.”

“You know, it would sound more natural if you said ‘I’ll end up talking shit’”.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you right back.” Courf tried to suppress his smirk, knowing he’d pressed just the right buttons there. He was lucky Grantaire knew he’d done it kind-heartedly.

“Fine! Let’s go, white boy!”

Once they’d got there, everyone was already talking excitedly, the whole place filled with that young peculiar energy, the whole naïve passion of the youth, which most people would find romantic, even endearing.

Well, Grantaire was not most people.

So he just sat down in a dark corner, close to the bar, and, as always, kept to himself.

They really looked like an odd group of people. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their age and their excitement. Grantaire started studying each one of them from afar. It was a thing he liked to do when he went out alone, wandering around campus or the city. There was this good-looking fella, wearing glasses, to whom Courfeyrac seemed to be closer than the others. He looked like a really complacent, even-tempered person, but Grantaire was not one to be fooled by people’s appearances. That man was the type of person to have by your side in a difficult situation, he could tell. There was something about the way he’d smiled knowingly, not in a snob kind of way, when Courf said something to his ear, that made him sympathize with the guy, though they hadn’t even talked yet.

Grantaire hadn’t been properly introduced to any of them, since they’d arrived right in the middle of what seemed to be a very serious discussion, and he was sort of relieved for it. People often asked him about stuff he didn’t care to talk about at all.

He was about to turn his attention to one of the other guys to try and get something out of him, just by observing him, when a very young-looking boy asked, in the sweetest voice Grantaire had ever heard.

“Ok, ok! But did any of you even text him? I mean, he’s entitled to a life outside Café Musain, you know.”

Somebody snorted at that.

“I highly doubt that’s the reason why he isn’t here.”

People were all starting to get uncomfortable for some reason, when Courfeyrac came towards Grantaire and whispered, smiling: “Our leader seems to have vanished.”

“You have a leader?” He asked back, in a snorting chuckle.

“Well, he doesn’t like when we call him that, but yeah, basically. He keeps us on track; we’re very easily distracted sometimes.” He winked, making Grantaire smile.

“Feuilly, why don’t you give us a head start, I mean, you’ve obviously been working on it longer.” Courfeyrac’s “buddy” said, bringing some peace into the room. “Something has obviously come up and we can’t just wait for Enjolras, I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to.”

 _Enjolras_.

“What a pretentious name…” Grantaire thought. “ A person with a name like that must have never seen the wrong side of town, that’s for sure.”

Feuilly got up from his seat and took a deep breath.

“Well, I haven’t got much to say except that we still need more donations for the homeless shelter. Seriously, I don’t know what you all have been up to, but it hasn’t been enough. We need more clothes, more hygiene products, and definitely more people willing to talk to these kids, give them some guidance, even with basic stuff like how to avoid STDs, I mean, we’ve had four teenage pregnancies in the past two months…”

Everyone tried to contribute with a suggestion, some of them pretty unpractical, but Grantaire was sort of surprised there seemed to be an actual interest in changing something. Not that he thought it would, really. But still.

Someone mentioned how ridiculous the latest health care government proposals were and how close they were to the next presidential elections and that was enough fuel for a debate on social structure and inequality, which was kind of less important, in Grantaire’s opinion, than the actual doing something, but seemed to heat up their tongues and minds in the same way.

Then in the middle of the whole argument, someone else arrived, barely making himself noticeable. He had a beat-up red jacket and faded jeans on, which looked like something from a thrift shop, and an exhausted look on his face. Grantaire couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, dark compelling eyes, indomitable as he hadn’t seen in many. And he carried an energetic posture, which made him the very image of tenacity as he walked inside the room.

When some members of the group finally noticed him, they turned around, looking distressed.

Grantaire felt distressed himself, as if he was supposed to know more about that person. He didn’t like the way it made him feel at all. He didn’t like that he looked nothing like a leader, despite his ruling presence, and this realization throbbed against his naturally suspicious nature.

“What the fuck happened to you?” One of the students, stylishly dressed, asked him, looking positively dismayed.

“Spent the night in jail again.” Was all the young man said, walking decisively towards a table, where a pile of fliers had been placed. “So, where were we?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire shook his head in disbelief for the fifth or sixth time that night, snorting under his breath. He kept doodling on the corner of a flier someone had handled him around an hour earlier, trying not to take what was being said into any consideration. First he’d made a funny drawing of Courfeyrac delivering pizzas, a theatrical Mario moustache hanging under his nose, because, honestly, he made it easy, but now he was focusing his artistic outlet on Jehan.

Jehan was the pretty boy with the angel voice he had heard on his first day at the Musain. Grantaire liked drawing him because he wore cool braids, Rastafari style, and he was always writing stuff on his journal and sighing. At least, it looked like a journal, and it made Grantaire very curious. Was he writing about what was being discussed or was he writing about them? Either way, he had been the first one to actually introduce himself to him after their first gathering, and the fact that he had been thrilled about Grantaire being able to speak three different languages (he came to know Jehan spoke four) had had a somewhat positive impact on him.

A language lover was definitely someone to keep close.

“Maybe you can teach me some Portuguese! And I can teach you some French!” He had suggested that evening, a sweet blaze going through his eyes. He was a romantic believer, poor kid, but his naiveté didn’t bother Grantaire that much for some reason. “Actually, I know how to say something in Portuguese, but I’m embarrassed to say it to you, because I’m not sure I can pronounce it correctly.”   

“Well, I know I mispronounce like 30% of what I say in English, so don’t worry about it. Let’s hear it.” Grantaire smiled. Most of the group members had already arrived and a few of them were already in the middle of some verbal fight, their infamous leader seeming more annoyed than usual, shooting glares at them, obviously pissed off by their “digression” from the “things that really mattered”, but Jehan didn’t even seem to notice, which made Grantaire even more willing to keep their conversation going.

The boy blushed a bit as he said, trying to concentrate: “Ok… Uhm… I learned it in one of my literature classes. ‘Um dia ainda morro de saudade de você…’”.

Grantaire laughed loudly, as he clapped his hands in a compliment, pleased as he hadn’t been in months. He couldn’t give a fuck Enjolras had shot him the dirtiest reproving look he’d seen on such a young face.

“Fantastic! You sound just like a native-speaker!” And he wasn’t being a sarcastic asshole or anything either.

Jehan blushed even harder.

“I said it all wrong, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t! It sounded good, I promise!”

“Do you two mind? We have plenty to discuss tonight, and I’m sure most of you have to get up early in the morning, so the sooner we sort this out…” Enjolras’ interruption made Jehan turn to face him, embarrassed, which reminded Grantaire of a little school boy being scolded by his teacher. It made him want to punch that self-entitled jerk right in the face.

He hadn’t talked to Enjolras not even once since he’d started participating in their meetings because it seemed obvious to him the “chief” didn’t want him there. He’d talk about reform, and equality and getting in touch with the people, and Grantaire just couldn’t help but roll his eyes, no matter how much passion there was in his words. He’d acknowledge it, of course. He just couldn’t bring himself to become a part of it.

And he definitely made an effort not to believe in his sincerity.

The only reason he kept coming back was because Courfeyrac could be a real bitch when he wanted to, and had told him he’d better come along if he wanted to improve his listening skills, because, boy, could those people talk non-stop! Plus, he sort of liked observing them and he kinda felt less homesick when they were around. Jehan was nice, and this other guy (they called him Bossuet for some god-knows-what reason) was pretty decent too, often asking him for his opinion and laughing at this occasional social justice jokes.

Now he was just trying to keep himself from actually telling one out loud as the group went on and on about what Grantaire thought to be a ridiculous argument over the necessity of adding genders other than “male/female” to their college extra-curricular activities enrolling forms.

When someone mentioned that they already had the option “other” on it, hell broke loose. People started discussing gender erasure and in less than thirty minutes, everyone was spitting an opinion at each other’s faces about sexual orientation and cisnormativity.

“Dá um tempo…” Grantaire spoke quietly, wondering if it was best just to leave before he started developing a headache.

Apparently not that quietly, though.

“I’m sorry, do you have something you’d like to share, Grantaire? Perhaps we’re boring you?” Enjolras blasted all of a sudden, placing one of his hands on the table he and Courfeyrac were sitting at.

It would be an understatement to say Grantaire was shocked. He didn’t even know Enjolras had bothered to learn his fucking name, to be quite honest. Courfeyrac looked at him, then back to their leader, and suddenly everyone was quiet, looking from one to the other, and Grantaire definitely felt like a kid being reproached by an adult.

He fucking hated it.

“As a matter of fact, I’m feeling a sudden urge to say, loud and clear, that this whole discussion is complete bullshit.”

Courfeyrac covered his mouth, trying to keep a straight face, hints of a grin peeking through his fingers.

The bastard loved to watch the world burn.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras asked, baffled, tons of people suddenly talking at the same time, outrage feeling the air.

“Yeah, you heard me. This whole argument reeks of elitism and it’s making me nauseous.”

“How is it that discussing gender equality is elitist?” Enjolras’ eyes were gleaming, as he tried to keep his cool, which wasn’t fooling Grantaire, not a bit.

“Are you even listening to yourselves? This is the first time I even heard the term ‘cisnormativity’ or whatever it’s called. How can the people be a part of your fight for change when you talk about things that only make sense to your privileged little group?”

“That’s kind of unfair, R…” Courfeyrac pointed out, amicably.

“Oh, really? Is it? There are over ten million people in my country who can’t even read, so fucked up is our education. I went to school with people who didn’t have anything to eat at home. Do you think I should fight for their right to call themselves ‘genderqueer’ on their extra-activities application forms? Does that sound like something to prioritize? Where I come from, most of them won’t even finish middle school! It’s like discussing cake recipes to feed the hungry, for fuck’s sake!”

At that most people got quiet, though some of them were still trying to pinpoint flaws in Grantaire’s rhetoric, but nothing actually got to him through the mess of voices. He noticed Enjolras looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his usual wistful marble features changing into an extremely concerned look, as if he’d been missing crucial information, which had just been conveyed to him in the most abrupt of manners, and he was trying to come to terms to his own wave of diverging thoughts. He kept staring at Grantaire, as if he were an alien.

Fucking rich boy.

“I’m out of here.” Grantaire growled, getting his jacket and heading towards the door. “We’ll talk later, Courf.”

“Alright, man.” Courfeyrac knew better than to try and stop him. Jehan, on the other side of the room by now, opened his journal and started making notes, excitedly.

As he got outside, he felt a gush of freezing wind hurt his skin. He wasn’t used to that harsh weather, but it had never really bothered him till that moment. Now everything felt shitty. The whole fucking world and everyone in it.

Why did he have to burst out like that?

He didn’t care! He didn’t! What difference did it make what they wanted to protest against? Why couldn’t he just let them be? So what if they didn’t have a clue about what was happening outside their campus? Outside their country? Outside their lifestyle? It wasn’t his place to open their eyes or whatever. He was pretty aware he was part of a privileged group himself, otherwise he wouldn’t even be there getting higher education! He felt like an asshole who got defensive way too easily.

“Você é um grande idiota, Grantaire!”

His mind was shooting at every direction as he got to the corner of the café, just to hear heavy steps behind him.

“Hey, wait!” He turned back fast, almost bumping into Enjolras, who moved out of his way, revealing really quick reflexes.

“What is it? What do you want?” Grantaire snapped, feeling his accent roll out of his tongue thick as ever. Whenever he got really pissed off, his phonetics lessons vanished from his mind like boring books you read in high school.

Enjolras frowned, like he was about to snap right back at him, but instead, resumed his usual posture, though Grantaire could obviously see he was struggling.

“Listen, I want you to come back to our next meeting.” He finally said. No, he _communicated_ ; as one communicates an employee that they’re moving their shifts. Grantaire grimaced.

“I’m sorry, come again? I think I misheard you. You want me to keep attending your private party?”

Enjolras snorted, clearly regretting his words.

“You are as self-entitled as you claim us to be, obviously incapable of taking any matter seriously, and I don’t like you at all.”

“Wow, thank you, now you convinced me!” Grantaire mocked, though he sort of admired the leader’s blunt honesty.

Deep, deep down.

“The thing is,” Enjolras continued. “I don’t have to like you. I just have to find you useful to the cause. You showed us just now you can contribute with a very unique point of view, and I find that essential to strengthen our arguments and make us less alienated from the real struggles of the people. That’s the only way to real liberty.”

Grantaire was dumbfound, his mouth hanging open, incredulously. Was that guy for real?

“You really believe all that shit, don’t you?”

Enjolras didn’t respond to that, simply glaring at Grantaire, as he went on.

“I’m aware of the risks I’m taking here. I mean, the things you say are a two-way street, you might as well end up corrupting their intentions with your cynicism.”

“Sounds like an awful plan then, if you ask me.”

“But a successful social change requires understanding of the people who need change. Their motivations. Understanding the ones who are willing to sell it as much as the ones who are willing to buy is indispensable.”

Grantaire shook his head, laughing mockingly. Wasn’t he a silver tongued motherfucker?

“And doing so will lead us all to salvation, chief? Is that it? Even those of us who aren’t acquainted with the First World struggles? ”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, as if he was already regretting his decision.

“Will you come back or not?”

“How could I refuse? If only to let you know how stupid you sound doing stuff like paraphrasing Rousseau in front of a coffee shop that charges five fucking dollars for a cappuccino.”

Enjolras allowed himself to let out an amused smile, which he quickly made sure to hide behind his impenetrable façade. Grantaire pretended he hadn’t seen it.

“The owner is an independent businessman.”

“Oh, and I suppose that makes everything better?”

“You’re really annoying.”

“Bite me.” Grantaire said, as he pulled his jacket up to cover his already red nose and turned away.

“See you next week, then.” He heard Enjolras’ voice, and he could swear his tone was slightly, very slightly amused.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“But _how_ mad is he?” Grantaire asked, shoving a handful of jellybeans in his mouth, real concern in his eyes.

“How can you eat that crap? It tastes like sugar mixed with plastic.” Courfeyrac asked back instead of answering, looking completely grossed out. They were both sprawled all over his carpet, already on their tenth or eleventh can of beer.

“Delicious sugar plastic...” Grantaire hummed as he chewed pleasurably. “But come on, Courf, tell me, was Bossuet angry? I don’t want him mad at me, he’s one of the very few people I actually enjoy talking to during those tedious meetings.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but smiled, sympathetically.

“He’s not angry, he just took it a bit personally, you know, his being transgendered and all, the way you talked last meeting, you kinda made it sound like it didn’t matter, all the prejudice he’s suffered and all.”

“Fuck. You know that’s not what I meant, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t think the group did.”

“I couldn’t care less about what “the group” thinks. They don’t fucking know what they are talking about half the time, even if they mean well, or whatever… I meant what I said, I just… Fuck. I’ll talk to him next Thursday.” Grantaire said, crawling over the carpet till he got to the six-pack placed on the couch.

“Yeah, that’s prob-probably a good idea.” Courfeyrac answered, his voice starting to sound slurry, as he finished another can in one gulp.

Grantaire laughed out loud.

“You’re such a light-weight!”

He watched amused as Courfeyrac made an effort to stand up, but gave up half the way, sighing painfully.

“Does everybody in Brazil drink like they don’t want to live?”

“No, that’s my very own special power. Ok, who’s that guy again?” Grantaire turned his focus to the TV, supporting his weight on his elbows. That was obviously going to be one of those Saturday nights, where they did nothing but kill their brain cells on crappy television and Grantaire was more than ok with it.

“I already told you, that’s Nathan. You’re not paying any attention!”

“Oh yeah, I remember him now, he’s the immortal guy, isn’t he?”

“And he can talk to the dead.”

“Yeah yeah, he’s the guy who jerked off in his own coffin, right?”

Before Courfeyrac could answer, his cell phone rang loudly. They looked at each other, a bit startled. After their last meeting, Grantaire had decided not to ever come back to the Musain, he was so pissed off. But after a few drinks with Courf, he thought that maybe, _just maybe_ , he’d been a bit of an asshole. He didn’t regret what he’d said, though. Just _how_ he’d said it.

So he’d decided that the only reason he was going back was so he could clear things up with Bossuet. He was most definitely _not_ going back because Enjolras had asked him to.

That patronizing prick.

It’s not like he didn’t have stuff to do, tests to study for, five thousand books to read in a language that wasn’t even his.

“I’m at Grantaire’s. No, you can talk, we’re just watching Misfits re-runs.” Grantaire grinned when he noticed how hard Courf was trying not to sound drunk. It had to be Combeferre on the other side of the line.

He saw as Courfeyrac’s face expressions went from mildly concerned to distressed in a second.

It had to be around 3 am already, and nothing good ever came from 3 am phone calls on Saturday nights (Sunday mornings?), he knew that much.

“Yeah, no, I mean, yeah, sure, I can do that.” He said after a few minutes, and Grantaire started to feel worried himself. When he finally hung up, he looked at him, sighing.

“We’re friends, right, R?”

“Oh fuck. What happened?”

“Enjolras got arrested for talking back to a cop.” Courfeyrac said, trying to sound as blunt as possible, as if stating a fact, rather than declaring such absurd fact at 3 am.

“Of course he was. And how is that my problem?”

“Combeferre is not in town, he’s visiting his parents and he asked me to go bail him out.”

“Uhm, you’re kinda wasted, man.”

“I know that, so, would you? Please?”

“You’re not asking me what I think you’re asking.” Grantaire said, complete shock on his face.

“I would do it, man, but I don’t think I can get up and well, walk in a straight line.”

“How about his other friends? How about the money to bail him out? I mean, I barely know him, Courf!”

“The money is in the flat they share, and I’m the only one who has the key.”

“Why do you have the key?”

If Courfeyrac weren’t already red all over from the booze, Grantaire would swear he was blushing.

“I told him I’d do it, please, R… please… I’m feeling like shit.” He said, falling on the floor, facing the ceiling, legs and arms spread all over as if he was ready to die.

“I’ve had as much as you did, quit being so dramatic.” Grantaire kicked him, not at all pleased with the situation.

“Yeah, but you look way more sober than I do, I can’t just walk into the police station looking like this.”

That he really couldn’t do. He looked drunk over his ass. Grantaire sighed, standing easily on his feet. Those beers had, amazingly, almost no effect on him.

“Fuck, man, are you seriously gonna make me do this?”

“Think of it as a cultural experience…” Courfeyrac said, in a drunk haze, eyes closed.

“Just shut up.” Grantaire stood on his feet, swearing in his mother-tongue. “Ok, where are the damn keys? You owe me big time and don’t think I won’t collect!”

______________________________________________//________________________________

As they quietly walked the streets back to the dorm, Grantaire was still trying to figure out how he had ended up there. First, he had to practically barge into a completely unfamiliar flat and go through drawers like a thief in the middle of the night for money. The last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a burglar in a foreign country. Then, he had to ask about seven people for directions till he got to the police station, only to have the most awkward conversation ever with an officer who started to measure him up and down the moment he realized he was Latin. (Which made him so tense he completely forgot how to say “bail” in English and had to explain what he meant by telling a really long story which only made the officer even more suspicious).

Now he was walking in that unbelievable cold beside one of the most obnoxious people he’d ever met and he had no idea what to say.

Enjolras had left his cell obviously ready to find Combeferre waiting for him, and the confusion on his face when he saw Grantaire instead was… actually a quite pleasurable sight to behold.

Well, he deserved to have get some fun out of it, didn’t he?

Still, Courfeyrac had better make up for him. Oh, he had better come up with something really good.

“So…” Enjolras broke the silence, voice a little annoyed. “You didn’t have to come all the way here, they would have released me tomorrow. I’m used to the routine by now.”

Grantaire shook his head, incredulous.

“Are you seriously that much of a jerk? I mean, it’s not like I was waiting for a ‘thank you’ or anything… It’s just that… well, yeah, I was kind of waiting for a ‘thank you’.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, as if he was going to say the words at last, but instead, he just snorted. He was apparently just as hardheaded as Grantaire.

“Combeferre worries too much.”

“He must really like you, to spend his money like that… I mean, Courf’s told me his family is loaded, but still… What the fuck did the cop do to you, anyway?” Grantaire snapped, letting his curiosity take over.

“He didn’t do anything to me. He was mistreating a homeless person.”

“What you mean, mistreating?”

“Trying to get him out the sidewalk, hitting him, when he was doing nothing but sitting there, trying to keep warm.”

“Oh, aren’t you Captain America…” Grantaire laughed bitterly.

Enjolras said nothing, walking with his hands in his pockets. Grantaire wondered what the hell he had been doing alone in that area on a Saturday night anyway.

“Was he grateful? The homeless guy, I mean.”

Enjolras stared at him, surprised by the question.

“What?” Grantaire stared back. “Police brutality is a bitch, no one said it wasn’t. I’m more than sure the cop was a fucking imbecile. I’m just asking how the homeless guy reacted to your… rescuing.” He tried not to sound too sarcastic.

Enjolras was still staring at him as if he were a magical creature from the woods. Grantaire felt embarrassed, and he didn’t even know what about.

“He told me to piss off and mind my own business.” Enjolras finally answered, looking at his feet.

Grantaire laughed so loud he was certain he’d woken the people in the houses they were just passing by.

“I don’t understand why. I mean, I was just trying to help…”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Grantaire asked, amused. “Just by looking at you, it’s pretty easy to realize where you come from. How can you expect them to sympathize with what you have to say when they know you haven’t gone through any of it? Everyone knows that where there’s suffering, there’s opportunism. And no one wants to be the victim, especially when the savior resembles the oppressor so much.”

When Grantaire stopped talking, he felt himself blush. Where the hell did all that come from?

Enjolras seemed to be taking it really seriously, weighing every word Grantaire’d spoken, as they walked side by side in that cold night.

“What do you suggest we do to change that?” He held Grantaire’s arm, stopping him.

“What?” Was all Grantaire could say.

“I’m not an opportunist, no matter what you might think. I want to help people, I want to change things, and you have a valid point. What’s your suggestion?”

“I-I don’t have one! How should I know? Plus, you’re not changing anything. You have no fucking clue how fucked up this world can be.”

At this, Enjolras pierced him through with those, once again, fire-filled eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me. Don’t ever presume you do. I acknowledge you have some points I should take into consideration, but don’t think for a second you can poison me with your cynicism.”

“You think I’m trying to poison you?” Grantaire asked, in real disbelief, not for a second trusting that Enjolras was actually giving him importance enough to be feared.

“It’s our duty to do all we can to defy the status quo, and no one can defame our combat.”

Grantaire felt any reply he’d give to that would result into an interminable new argument, and it was almost four thirty, all he wanted was to crash his bed. It was awful, though, the way that little jackass could make him go against his own self-imposed rule of not taking part in anything which didn’t actually have to do with him. He rubbed his face, trying not to start another fire.

Damn, it was hard.

“Remind me not to bail you out early in the morning ever again.” He wrapped up the conversation, resuming his walking. Enjolras followed silently, looking tired as well.

“I already told you didn’t have to.”

“And I heard you, chief. I heard you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently betaless, so... let me know if there are any mistakes. I'd really appreciate it! : )


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, man, can I talk to you for a second?” Grantaire asked first thing that Thursday night, as soon as he spotted Bossuet amidst the crowd of students.

The café seemed particularly busy that night, with lots of people coming and going (mostly coming and going towards each other, since a considerable amount was already pissed beyond compare, having an early happy hour), while others sat by themselves, contemplating the nothingness over their cups of coffee (those kids drank coffee at 2 am as if it were breakfast, Grantaire had realized a while back, in shock).

Vodka rocks, I mean, it made sense on Monday mornings… but coffee?

It was a bit early for their weekly meeting, but he had hoped Bossuet would be there, preferably alone, so they could chat for a bit.

“I guess.” Was all the other man answered, shrugging. He seemed tired, though his gesture towards the chair beside him was friendly enough for R not to feel like an intruder.

“Listen, man, I just wanted to apologize, you know, for implying gender issues weren’t an important matter. I didn’t mean to be a prick or anything… Well, I kind of did, but not towards you. I had no intention of, you know, dismissing anyone’s personal struggles…”

Bossuet stared for a while, a blank expression. His pitch black eyes looking terrifying all of a sudden, while R just waited, trying to keep the overwhelming gaze. He’d learned soon in life that, if you’re wrong in a situation, you ought not to feel ashamed about it, but to face it to make it right. And so he did, until Bossuet started laughing quietly.

“You really are a piece of work, amigo.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t mind… much. I mean, I know where you’re coming from, the same as I’m sure you have an idea where I come from, and that we can’t afford to focus our worries on whether people will call us by the right pronouns or whatever…”

Grantaire laughed bitterly at that.

“Definitely not a priority when you’re America’s trash by definition… You’re not pissed off at me, then?”

Bossuet just smiled, pouring him a glass of wine.

“You know, I’m from a really messed up area in the South of Yucatán, so when I came here to study Microbiology, my mind was all over the place. My father had just lost his job, my sister was pregnant, my mom was depressed, I mean, they couldn’t wait to get me out of the country, they thought I’d be way better off without them. Discussing my gender with them was kind of not that important, then…”

“I know the feeling. If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get the money to be here, anyway? I’m just curious, because I got a partial scholarship, but I still have to come up with 40% of the tuition, and let me tell you, it’s been keeping me awake at night.”

“I got a full scholarship. Got the highest rates in my admission.”

“Excuse _me_ , geniecillo…” Grantaire drank the wine in one gulp, laughing again.

“You are excused.” Bossuet followed his laughter, filling both of their glasses again and clinking them in a semi toast. “They were wrong, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thinking I’d be better off without them. I mean, what am I doing here? What good am I doing them sitting on my ass all day, going to lectures and drinking wine on a Thursday night like a fucking emo kid.”

Grantaire burst out laughing again, feeling somewhat cheerful for the first time since he’d left his dorm.

“You’re taking an opportunity, man. You’ll sort out your career and you’ll make enough money to help your folks, just give it time. I was laughing, but it’s pretty fucking awesome that you got a full scholarship, you should be proud.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

Grantaire was about to start a series of arguments to convince Bossuet of what he was saying, when he realized Enjolras and Combeferre were at a table right behind them, God knows for how long, so the asshole in him felt the urge to poke at them. Just because.

Which made him say his next words out loud, glass still in hand.

“Plus, mi amigo, you are an active member of a revolutionary group, or did you forget about that? That’s like… the biggest honor Third World bums like as ourselves could have!”

At that, Enjolras, who, Grantaire realized, had been listening to their conversation with interested eyes, got up looking severely annoyed, ignoring the way Combeferre held his arm, appeasably.

“If you find it all to be such a joke, why do you keep coming back?” Enjolras’ voice had a composed quality to it, but Grantaire could feel the almost unnoticeable hint of rage in the back of his throat.

And he enjoyed it more than he’d ever admit to anyone.

“Well, the main reason I came here tonight was my business with Bossuet, but if I could assist you in anyway, honorável líder, be certain I would.”

Bossuet shook his head, trying to hide his smile behind his glass.

“Well, your offering was just what I needed.” Enjolras replied, seeming truly satisfied, what made Grantaire slightly creeped out. “I indeed have a service for you, since you’re so eager to help us.”

“Are you sure about this?” Combeferre asked him, quietly, to which Enjolras replied with a head gesture that appeared to say “I know what I’m doing”.

Which he obviously didn’t, R came to conclude, considering his following words.

“We have been doing an interesting work at the community center in Astoria, and we could definitely use a Portuguese-speaking person to help us with the older people in the Brazilian community settled there.”

Grantaire blinked, as if his brain had just shut down. Wait, what? He felt kinda speechless, maybe for the first time since he was four. Not only because, well, Enjolras knew Brazil’s first language wasn’t Spanish, which was pretty impressive for an American, but mostly due to the fact that he’d even trust him with something like that.

Since he kept silent for an awkward amount of time without even realizing, Enjolras continued, clearing his throat.

“Feuilly has been doing a great job, but it has come to my attention that our health care program has been done mostly in Spanish, and the Brazilian elderly have had a bit of a hard time at the consultations. So… what do you say? Agreed? I think it’s about time we’d put that quick tongue of yours to good use.”

Grantaire gasped, fidgeting in his chair, then looking at Bossuet as if searching for a plausible explanation for all that attention he was getting all of a sudden. The other only shrugged, seeming amused.

Enjolras kept staring at him, and, if he didn’t know better, he’d say there was a tiny teeny glimpse of anticipation in those eyes.

“I… Uhm… I-I guess… Sure?”

“Great, it’s settled. You’ll be assisting Feuilly and Joly the second Saturday of every month.” He stated, marble expression back on his face. “I’ll assign everyone else’s tasks during our meeting tonight.”

Grantaire was so startled, he could only swallow his own spit so he wouldn’t choke on it. Enjolras went back to his conversation with Combeferre, after giving him a smile, which lasted for about 1.5 seconds, though R was pretty sure he was smiling at himself for being so freaking eloquent and leaving him dumbfounded.

“Ok… What just happened?” He turned back to Bossuet, who was now filling his glass with renovated energy.

“It seems we’re making a difference in the world, colega.”

___________________________________//___________________________________________

“So, I hear someone is doing volunteer work, and I hear this someone enjoys vodka in his morning coffee. Wonder who that could be…” Courfeyrac’s cheerful voice filled the room that night after the meeting. Grantaire had spent the whole thing wondering how he could make Enjolras change his mind by antagonizing every single word that left his mouth, but the blond seemed to be relishing in their never-ending discussion a little too much.

“Your leader has presented a few compelling arguments...”

“Whatever he said, I’m really glad you’re coming with us next Saturday, R!” Jehan placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly.

“Você acha isso porque você é uma gracinha.” R replied, winking at him.

“Hey! That’s not fair! I don’t know what you just said!” Prouvaire’s face assumed a light shade of red, even though he had no idea why he was blushing.

Courfeyrac laughed, pouring himself a shot of whatever there was in the almost empty bottle before them. The meeting had ended a couple of hours earlier and most of the group had already left. Grantaire had stayed behind since he had gotten a text from Courfeyrac asking him to wait for him there. Plus, Jehan had offered to wait with him, which made the night much more enjoyable.

“Well, I’m for one am thrilled R has finally decided to give back to society.”

“You are really funny, Courf, really. I’m getting you a funny dude medal or something. Volunteer work is the last thing I needed right now, and you can thank your marble god for that. I’ve got to get a paid job asap, cara, you know that.”

“Hey, hey, take it easy. I’ll talk to Combeferre, he mentioned something about a job vacancy at the philosophy department’s library, maybe you can fill it in?”

“I’d appreciate that, man.”

“No worries.”

“Where were you before, anyway? It’s the first time I see you skip a meeting.”

Courfeyrac opened the hugest of smiles, clutching his hands together, solemnly.

“Something glorious has happened, gentlemen.”

Grantaire and Jehan exchanged a curious look, before the first one spoke.

“You’re hardly ever this mysterious; in fact, you’re the complete opposite of mysterious, so it’s got to be something good.”

“Dude… _dude_! Check this out. I was at my anthropology class today, and our professor was talking about the origins of Imperialism, and I mean, everything was cool until he said there were indeed many examples of beneficial engagements in Imperialism, cases in which without the Imperialist intervention, anarchy would prevail and we should be thankful for it.”

“Ok, he could not possibly have said that.” Grantaire shook his head skeptically, taking another drink from his cup. “Come on, this is a liberal institution.”

“Are you serious, Courf? He really said that?” Jehan asked, looking positively hurt.

“He not only said that, my dear fellas, but he also began to point out how amazing America is at it. Apparently, we’re helping several countries not revert back to anarchy, we’re indeed helping them rebuild their infrastructure, isn’t that just dandy?”

“Fucking hell! What fucking class is that?” R burst out, calling a bit of attention from the other tables.

“That’s exactly what the guy next to me shouted out loud! Man, will the two of you get along!” Courf laughed again, a hint of sparkle in his eyes. “Anyway, he just shouted: ‘first of all, you dick, America is a fucking continent, not a country, second of all, you’re spitting in the face of millions of Puerto Ricans every time you say Imperialism can be beneficial, you try being a fucking colony in fucking 2014 and tell me what that feels like!”

“Caralho…” Grantaire was amazed, a grin forming on his face.

“Then hell broke loose, a couple of people tried to defend the professor’s point of view, while others started bringing some unrelated middle class issues to surface, then things got kind of violent. Let me tell you, there’s a lot of cultural grudge in this campus…”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What I know is that I picked a fight with this one kid, and long story short, we all ended up in the freaking Dean’s office. It was like seventh grade all over again.”

“What about your Puerto Rican panna?”

“Bahorel! Oh, I totally invited him to come to our next meeting! He’s like actively engaged in all these different groups, he could be of great assistance to us. Plus, we could start a riot of some sort to force the board to review the college’s academic line of thought, now wouldn’t that be something?”

“Jesus… Don’t you people get tired of trying to change the world? I mean, I got breathless just by hearing your story. Where do you find the energy? I mean, I’m really glad to be here with you every Thursday night, don’t get me wrong…” He looked back at Jehan, smiling wickedly.

“That’s because you’re sweet.” Prouvaire answered, taking R by surprise.

But Courfeyrac didn’t seem provoked at all.

“Well, the fact that you’re losing your breath over it, my moody friend, should be a sign of some change in the weather…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1 = "Você acha isso porque você é uma gracinha." = "You think so because you're sweet/cute."
> 
> Note 2 = Bossuet is trans, in case that wasn't clear.
> 
> Note 3 = HUGE THANKS to Alex for helping me with the Spanish words! ¡Gracias, colega! ; )
> 
> Note 4 = I really need a beta! Would anyone be interested? I'd be truly grateful!
> 
> Note 5 = Guys, guys!! Check out the sweetest R drawing Alex has presented me with! She made it especially for this fic:  
> http://joeytoe.tumblr.com/post/93547035810/well-i-did-this-as-a-present-for-my-friend-jaque

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, if you spot any grammar errors or vocabulary misuse, please, let me know. : )


End file.
